


Mechanical Heartbeat

by chesterfieldred



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Community: falloutkinkmeme, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Robot Feels, Robot Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Technobabble, those two I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6301174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chesterfieldred/pseuds/chesterfieldred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danse helps Nick with some internal repairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Danses' personal quest!!!

The last of the raiders finally fell and Danse twirled around to where he had seen Nora standing only a moment ago. The whole camp was a burning mess, those raiders had been really too keen on the Molotovs for his tastes. There were flames everywhere, roaring and hungry and for a split second he felt panic stab through him before he heard the woman call out.

"Danse! Over here!" 

He turned towards the voice and spotted a half burning shack and the former Paladin had no idea how she got there so fast.

He made his way over quickly, "Everything alright?"

"No! No, nothings alright! Help me!" Nora sounded panicked and as he stepped inside the burning shack he could see why. Valentine was lying there, trapped under a heavy wooden beam, squirming and writhing. The synth was heaving, metal fingers buried in the wood and face scrunched up in pain. Nora was yanking at the beam, but it was way too heavy for her.

"Stop gawking, help me get this off!" Nora barked at him and Danse hurried forward. He bend down and, with the extra strength provided from his Power Armor - or rather one of Nora's spare Power Armors he was wearing these days -, managed to lift the beam with a grunt. In an amazing display of stubbornes, Nora pulled Valentine free and he let the beam fall to the ground with a dull thud. The ceiling gave a dangerous creak, flames crackling through the woodwork above.

"Out!" he ordered alarmed, grabbing the woman and the synth by their arms and pulling them outside, a mere second before the structure caved in. 

He looked at the pillar of fire that burned into the sky, right where they had been only seconds ago. Nora and Valentine lay on the ground before him, the woman panting heavily.

"That. Way too close," Nora gasped and looked at him from the upside down. Then she propelled herself upwards and knelt next to the synth. 

"Nick! You okay?" 

Valentine didn't answer for a moment, yellow eyes blinking owlishly up at them. He answered slowly, "I... don't know, doll."

He lifted his arms from his stomach and tried to push himself up.

And cursed.

Nora swore like a sailor and Danse cringed internally when he spotted the synth's crushed waist.

****

"It's alright, doll," Nick smiled up at the vault-dweller encouragingly, "I wouldn't be as old as I am if I wasn't made of sterner stuff."

Nora was fussing over him, almost endearingly so. She was ellbows deep in Nick's abdominal cavity, wearing a helmet nearly two sizes too big for her with a lamp attached to it's side to lighten Nick's internals, repairing the destroyed components. The synth lay on a spare matress, unable to move from his waist down. Hancock had joined them this morning, sitting in the corner of the small repair shop Nora had build in her garage three months prior and Danse stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, for once not wearing the Power Armor, but his old jumpsuit instead.

They had made it to Sanctuary safely yesterday evening, almost twenty-four hours ago. Fortunately the raider camp hadn't been that far away. Danse had to carry the synth since Valentines' legs refused to work properly, while Nora had provided the cover, the lean woman unable to carry the weight. As far as Danse knew, Nora had been in here since they arrived. And made a good progress for now. 

The crushed framework inside of Valentine's hip had already been replaced. Wires and cables hung free, bundled on one side and clipped for now so that Nora could reach the damage underneath. Said woman however looked like she was ready to collapse by now.

"You shut up, Sir!" Nora huffed and deepened her voice to mimick Valentines', "Oh, I'm Nick Valentine, I can take down four raiders in a burning building on my own because I am a goddamn hero."

Nick chuckled at her antics, "What? I managed, didn't I?"

"And now I'm bragging about it," Nora continued in that deep voice, grimacing comically, "Because I'll do it again in the blink of an eye, you just watch me, I'm invincible."

Hancock snorted with laughter in the corner, "Getting really good with his voice. Did you practice?"

"A little bit. Can do yours, too." Nora winked at the ghoul who held his hand up in defence, "No, please! Nobody wants to hear that!"

She laughed and leaned down to peer into Nick's opened abdominal cavity, "There's something loose there and I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be. Let me just... ah! There!"

Nick winced when she pulled something free, a demolished piece of metal about the size of her fist, covered in oil.

Nora stared at it, "And what the hell is that?" 

Then she stared at Nick. The synth just shrugged.

"How can you not know?" The woman groused, "It was inside of you!"

"Would you recognize a bloody kidney if I'd show you?"

"Ugh, gross... okay, point taken. Dammit, I'll never get to patch you up at this rate..." Nora rubbed her tired eyes, looking frustrated.

Valentine sighed, "Nora. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow."

"And leave you here, half patched up?" The woman asked and shock her head, "No. I'll finish this now. As soon as I figure out what this thing is supposed to be."

"That is a gyro stabilizer," Danse cut in, the first thing he had said after joining them in the shop, " _Was_ a gyro stabilizer. It's supposed to measure the balance input from both legs and synchronizes movement input with the rest of the body."

Nora lifted an eyebrow at him, "And you know that because...?"

Danse hesitated with the answer, glancing at Valentine, "I... watched the Scribes ... disassemble gen-1 and gen-2 synths before. We have had various specimen on board the Prydwen for study."

He noticed the way Nick averted his gaze at the mention of disassembling, a flicker of his eyes only, and felt regret for phrasing it like that. Nora simply nodded. 

"I could... I mean... you're obviously tired and I know enough about synth engineering to continue..." Danse started, gesturing towards Valentine, and then bit on his own tongue. Hell, he was really eloquent these days, wasn't he?

Three pair of eyes watched him with with different emotions. Nora looked hopeful and Danse knew that it was because she desperately wanted for them all to get along better. Wanted for them to trust each other. After his banishment from the Brotherhood and Nora persuading him to come live in Sanctuary, there had been a lot of tension between him and the other residents. Especially Valentine and Hancock. With the way he had behaved towards them in the past, when he still believed he was human, he couldn't say he blamed them. 

Both the synth and the ghoul looked at him with thinly veiled suspicion. Valentine's yellow eyes narrowed down to small slits and Danse felt uncomfortably assessed by that gaze.

Nora noticed, of course. She huffed at the animosity and whiped at her eyes again. 

"Alright," the woman spoke calmly, as if talking to small children, "You don't like him. Everyone get's it. Can we now please stop this and start acting like adults?"

Valentine huffed, "I'm not-"

"Nick. Please. He won't kill you," Nora interjected gently and turned to Danse, "You sure you can do this?"

Danse nodded and she smiled at him.

Nick looked like he wanted to protest for a moment. His gaze shifted from Danse to her. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Danse suddenly wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. Nora looked at Nick pleadingly and the synth seemed to fight with himself.

Then Valentine sighed in defeat,"Alright, doll."

"Great," Nora breathed and waved Danse over to show him how far she'd come and what still needed repairs. It was a lot but Danse was sure he'd manage. Between what he had seen when watching the Scribes to repairing his Power Armor and modding weapons he knew a good deal about mechanics. He could do this. 

"Okay," Nora stood up from the ground, stretching her back. Her spine gave a creak. "I'll be back after hibernation. If there's a problem, you call me, right?"

"Sure," Danse nodded, arranging the various tools on the ground to his liking. He was nervous and determined not to let it show.

Hancock stood when she turned to leave and snuffed his cigarette out under his booth. He grinned at them, "Have fun, you two." With a little wave and a wink he followed Nora through the door and Danse really didn't want to know. Anything.

He looked back at the task before him. And had to swallow hard.

Because said task was Valentine, lying on his side and watching him, propped up on one ellbow, shirt opened and his pants low on his hips to allow access to the abdominal plating and the other synth's eyes were half lidden in what still looked like suspicion. 

Danse felt his fingers tingle.

"So," Valentine spoke with that deep voice of his and Danse looked up at him, startled. The older synth had grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lit himself one, holding the pack out to the former Paladin. He shock his head, declining the offer. 

Valentine shrugged and when he took a drag and inhaled, the smoke wavered out of the ragged hole in his neck. How he could do that without lungs or any mechanical equivalent for it was anybody's guess.

"Just you and me then. I don't think I've ever been alone in a room with you before."

Danse shock his head slowly. No. No, they hadn't. He knew.

Silent, because he didn't know what to say, he started where Nora had left off, the oil covered gyro stabilizer. He took a rag and cleaned it as well as he could. The component was damaged, but not beyond repair. 

Danse picked up the soldering iron and set to work.

Valentine looked at him for a moment. When he realized he would get no answer, the older synth leaned back onto the matress, one hand behind his head, occupying himself with the cigarette. White puffs of smoke trailed lazy circles over his head and yellow eyes traced the intricating patterns.

"I... didn't get to thank you before. You know, for saving my life. I don't understand why you did it, pulled me out, too, but thank you, whatever that may be worth to you."

Danse's eyes were fixed on the glowing tip of the soldering iron. In the back of his mind he replayed all the nasty and mean things he had said to Valentine before ... well, before everything. 

"You're welcome," he finally said and Valentine lifted his non-existent eyebrow and chuckled deeply, "Oh, so you can speak. And here I thought a cat got your tongue."

"I...." Danse started, and shock his head. Why was this so hard? 

"It is worth to me." he finally muttered without looking up.

"Excuse me?"

"Your gratidue," he explained to the soldering iron and his voice sounded small, "As is your life."

Now Valentine was silent and Danse could feel the older synth staring at him. He shuffled uncomfortably and finally looked up. Yellow circles gleamed in the dim light. There were small crinkles around Valentines' eyes and around his mouth in the synthetic skin. Laugh lines, edged into the silicone over decades. Valentine smiled at him. For the first time, as far as Danse could remember.

"You are a good man, Danse," the older synth said, sounding sincere, and Danse scoffed, chrestfallen, "A man... I am a machine."

Valentine chuckled softly, "Right, I forgot. It's so obvious. Please ignore _my_ metal and plastic parts."

Danse felt his lips quirk up in a smile at that. A small smile.

"This is not the same..." he murmured nontheless, but felt the ire was missing from his voice. He had no energy left for that. He was a synth and as bitter as that truth was, it was just that. The truth. He was far from accepting it. But it got better. Every day.

"It isn't?" Valentine's voice was gentle, "Because, from were I am standing, we aren't that different, you and I. I just had more time to come to terms with being a machine than you."

Danse looked up at that, confused, "What do you mean?"

Valentine sighed. His eyes flickered to the side, as if he regretted what he had said. Then he looked back up at him, "I remember being human. I was... well, at least some part was... Nick Valentine, he was real. Twohundred years ago. A cop who got his brain scanned, before the bombs. And then I wake up in a trashheap in this body that needs a screwdriver and wonderglue to keep it from breaking apart."

Danse stared at the other synth, "I... I didn't know that..."

"Well... it's not something I go and tell everyone. Especially not Brotherhood Paladins," Valentine chuckled and then the gentle smile was back, "Only my friends know about this."

Danse felt a blush creep up his neck. Suddenly he was glad for the dim light in the workshop. He hoped the other wouldn't notice. 

"Thank you," he mumbled, "For confiding in me."

"You earned it," Valentine simply answered and stubbed the cigarette out on the concrete floor and Danse smiled at that and continued with the repairs.

The hours ticked by after that and Danse made good progress on the stabilizier. They also talked a lot to kill the time, Danse recapitulating missions from his time in the Brotherhood and Valentine explaining cases he had worked on in the past. Danse hadn't thought that he would find a detectives work so interesting. But maybe that had also something to do with the fact that the older synth was a great story-teller. Or perhaps because Danse liked the sound of his voice, accompanied by the soft hum of his inner workings. 

And where had that thought come from? 

He resolutely stomped on it, until he hoped it was gone, along with the warm, confusing feeling in his chest he just now realized he'd had when watching Valentine talk.

"Hey, you alright?" The older synth suddenly asked and Danse noticed he had been staring for about a good minute. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Yes... It, errr, it should be ready. I just have to reintegrate it to your system now."

Valentine lifted a non-existent eyebrow, sounding vaguely suspicious, "Well, alright then..."

It was easier said then done. Danse's gaze was once again inexorably pulled to the older synth's opened shirt, the naked chest underneath, the stretch of his neck and the well-defined collarbone. The gapping hole in his abdomen or the way his synthetic skin did indeed look old and worn didn't distract from the fact that Valentine had an unmistakable esthetic appeal. And Danse just now realized that he would have to touch him.

He almost swallowed his own tongue at that thought and distracted himself with putting on Nora's helm with the lamp and adjusting it. Or he simply wanted to buy himself time.

His ears were burning when he lifted his hand and laid it down on Valentine's side. The silicone was warm under his hand. He hadn't expected that, but then again, the other synth's inner workings were bound to create heat like every working machine. 

Danse carefully peeked inside. He could see gears and pistons, bundles of wires and cables and coolant lines along steel framework. There were also some components he couldn't name, hadn't seen in the gen-2's the Scribes had dismantled on the Prydwen. He frowned at them. They looked somehow... organic. Unsettling.

"I'm a prototype," Valentine clarified and Danse looked up at him, "Well, at least I think so. Somewhere between gen-2 and 3."

"That could explain these strange parts," Danse said, "I have never seen a synth like you."

Valentine scoffed, eyes shimmering teasingly, "Was that a compliment? I'm not sure..."

Danse froze at the almost flirting tone. He opened his mouth and closed it again audibly. He was imagining things. There was no way Valentine meant what he said or the way he said it.

"I...," he cleared his throat, "I should resume now."

He bent over the other synth, the lamp on his helmet illuminating his insides. He could see were the stabilizer was supposed to be, a large slot located at the lower part of Valentine's spine. He had to fit it in and reconnect the cables to reintegrate it to the synth's system. Valentine should be able to move his legs again, then. 

He took a deep breath and reached in. It was warm, that was his first thought, even warmer than the synthetic skin. Careful, so not to accidentally rip off wires he started to twist them to the side, clearing the slot for the stabilizer.  
He easily identified the cables for the component, four of them, with oval shaped plugs at the end, lying in a bundle against the heavy metal framework that made up Valentine's spine. He touched them and held them fast to not let them slip away when fitting the stabilizer inside with care. On the first try to gently slide the part into it's place, it stuck. 

Danse frowned. It wouldn't fit. He pulled it free again and put it away to feel along the slot. There. The thin metal rails were deformed, probably from the weight of the wooden beam that had knocked Valentine down. He rummaged around in the tool kit with his free hand.

"What's wrong?" Valentine asked, sounding rough, and Danse couldn't blame him. He wouldn't exactly like someone fumbling around in his abdomen, too.

"I have to straighten the slot for the stabilizer. It's crooked," Danse explained and found what he was looking for, a small pair of tongs. 

Yellow eyes seemed to zoom in on the tool, widening, "Careful with that, will ya..." 

Danse nodded in concentration and reached inside with the tool. He had to lean over Valentine to get a good look and clip the rails to bend them into place. 

"Damn...," Valentine growled, almost painful.

"Sorry," Danse murmured and didn't dare to glance up, too focussed on the task before him. He straightened the rails to the best of his ability, removing the tool and feeling along the thin metal again with his fingertips. Seemed as good as it would get. He took the stabilizer again and tried once more. This time it slid into place easily, fitting snuggly inside the slot. Now he just had to plug in the cables again. 

"There we go...," Danse nodded to himself and felt along the wires between his fingers. The angle was awkward, his sight blocked by his own hands. He had to rely on his tactile sense for this. 

Valentine suddenly squirmed under his weight, a small, abortive motion. 

"Hold still. This is delicate. I can't remove my hands now," Danse said irritated, frowning, and Valentine relaxed again.  
He found the first plug, holding it fast and searched for the connector, slid it into place on the underside of the stabilizer. 

Valentine shivered. A full body shiver accompanied with what sounded like a small groan. He looked up, startled. 

"Did I hurt you?" Danse asked alarmed and didn't dare to move his hand.

Valentine looked up at the ceiling, yellow eyes glowing brightly. The older synth's lips quivered.

"No," he croaked, voice rough. Danse noticed how his hands were balled into fists.

"Really?" He asked sceptically and Valentine nodded minutely, still refusing eye contact, sounding almost frustrated, "It's... okay. Just... just get it done."

Danse's frown deepened. It was obvious the other synth was lying through his teeth. He resumed his careful work, forcing himself to be even more gentle with the cables. When he felt along the second one to find the plug, Valentine clenched his teeth on a growl and turned his head to the side, deliberately avoiding eye contact. The steady, low hum of his inner working had increased in volume. Danse found the other plug and slid it into the connector. 

"Two more to go," he murmured in concentration and felt sorry for the pain he caused, felt the need to reassure Valentine, "It's almost over."

He got no answer. The other synth was quiet, too quiet, except for the hum of his machinery, a faint shiver rocking the upper body under him. The third plug was difficult, he had to twist his hand awkwardly to bend it into the right angle. It felt too short and he pulled gently and Valentine cried out at that, arching up into his grip.

Danse startled and looked up.

This was no pain. This was... 

Danse had to violently suppress the instinct to pull back as if burned when he realized exactly what this was. He couldn't stop gasping helplessly, though. 

"I... I'm sorry..." Valentine's voice was small and the older synth had his eyes closed, looking mortified, "I didn't... I didn't think it would... feel like this..."

How could this even... Danse didn't know. He decided resolutly he never even wanted to know and knew it was a lie immediately. A thrill shot down his spine to pool warmly in his neither regions. 

He knew he shouldn't. He knew the only reasonable thing to do would be to let go and find another way to finish the repairs. Maybe Nora could do this tomorrow. Valentine trusted her and when he reacted ... like this to someone touching his insides, it should rather be an old friend instead of him. 

Apparently, his fingers were of completely different opinion, though. 

Carefully they repeated the movement and Valentine choked on a moan, biting his lower lip. His good hand shot up and encircled his forearm. 

"What are you doing?" The older synth gasped, voice raw.

"You want me to stop?" Danse heard himself whisper, cheeks burning and two yellow orbs looked up at him, scandalized, shocked. Pleading. 

"No..." Valentine murmured and the death grip around his forearm loosened. 

Without breaking eye-contact, Danse resumed his ministrations, sliding the third and fourth plug into their respectable connectors. Valentine's legs started to quiver when he could move again, the stabilizer safely inside and embedded in his system.

Danse bit his lip. 

And gripped a heavy coolant line without thinking about what he was doing. He stroked along the line, along the steelframe behind it and Valentine all but _mewled_. He could feel the coolant rushing through the plastic under his fingers. Valentine's hips bucked slowly in an easily recognizable motion and his good hand shot up to stiffle a cry. 

It was a dream. There was no other explanation. There was no way this was real, no way he had his hand buried deep in the other synth's body, stroking along metal framework, carefully over pistons working in overdrive, pinching cables and coolant lines and reducing Valentine to a moaning, squirming mess under him. 

He grabbed a particular thick bundle of cables that lead from the synth's torso to his legs, coiling around the synth's spine and twisted it, wiggling his fingers between the wires.

"Don't... don't stop," Valentine gasped and then moaned low in his throat when he pinched the cables between his fingers, rolling them into a bundle gently. 

"God... Danse..." 

Hearing his name whispered with so much desire, spilling from the lips of none other than Nick Valentine, had Danse feeling like he was burning alive. The jumpsuit he wore was too hot, too tight and he reached down to rearrange himself, moaning quietly at the touch of his own hand. 

He twisted his fingers buried in the wires one more time.

The body under him seized up in sensory overload and Valentine cried out, unable to keep quiet. Danse watched, transfixed, when the other synth threw his head back, hips bucking up and frame arching into him, tiny sparks sizzling along his inner network of cables. 

He looked so beautiful. It didn't matter what he was. It didn't matter that he had a machine in his hands. The rapture on the synthetic face under him was real. 

The sparks died down again and Valentine was gasping for unneeded air. When he looked up at him, his yellow eyes were ablaze, glowing brightly. 

Slowly, Danse untangled his hand from the bundle of cables and let go of the steel framework. With his left hand he stroked over Valentine's side, over his hipbone, feeling shivers run through the metal body under him.

Valentine looked like he wanted to say something. Then he simply smiled that gentle smile again with a slight shake of his head and pulled at his forearm and Danse followed, unable to stop himself. 

The other synth's lips were dry on his own, the silicone soft and yielding and he tasted plastic and nicotine. Fingers tangled in his hair, gently, and when he opened his eyes again, inches above the others face, he looked down into yellow circles, watching him with tender amazement.

"That was ... unexpected," Valentine whispered, deep voice wondrous and Danse shivered when the other synth stroked along his temple with his fingertips, careful and gentle, as if afraid he would spook him.

"Yes...," Danse could only agree, right now. Because he knew that it hadn't been. Not for him. 

"Why didn't you stop?" Valentine's gaze was searching, was so deep and soft, and Danse didn't know what to say so he simply leaned down again and kissed the other synth once more. Valentine moaned quietly into his mouth and Danse felt arms encircling his shoulders, a hand stroking his neck. 

It felt so good. 

There was a reason. A confusing reason. A whole big mess of emotions Danse wasn't sure where even real or simply programmed zeroes and ones in his artifical brain. 

But in the end... did it really matter?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 minutes into this pairing and chill and suddenly there's a sequel. How'd that happen? Anyway... More grown ass synth's with existential issues! Yay!

Danse held the cold bottle of beer between his palms before pressing it to his wrists. It felt good in the heat of midsummer that had rolled lazily over the Commonwealth three weeks ago and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. It wasn't even noon and already the humid warmth was exhausting and had forced him to shrug out of the top of his uniform to bundle it up around his waist. The plain white t-shirt he wore underneath was soaked with sweat anyway. He squinted into the bright blue sky, sitting in one of the old chairs in Sanctuary's gardens. Not a single cloud anywhere and the lake had shrunken down to almost half it's size by now so they had had to relocate the water purifiers last week.

At least that had given him something to do and took his mind off of the only thing he apparently could think about at the moment.

Danse sighed to himself. 

They hadn't talked about that night, about what had happened between them. 

He still vividly remembered the heat the body under him had radiated, the taste of artifical lips, the quiet, strained moans mixing with his own, when he had finally come undone too, brought over the edge by a deep voice in his ear and a gentle, synthetic hand between his legs. 

Danse shuddered and shoved the memories away resolutely. It was enough that they kept him up at night, frustrated, confused and painfully hard. 

He didn't know what to do. As a soldier, he had taken down raiders, ferals, super mutants and deathclaws, but he had never in all his life, or what he thought was his life and not just preprogrammed memories, felt so very out of his depth like now.

Everytime he saw the other synth, even from afar, he all but turned and fled. Talked to the next best person about anything to look occupied or jumped into the next doorway. Hell, he would jump into the river despite it's radiation levels, just to avoid him if there was no other way.

He was a disgrace, his behaviour shameful and disreputable. Danse wanted to kick himself for it. 

He wished it never happened. He wanted to do it again.

With a sigh he dropped his head into his hand, holding the cold bottle against his temple. Not even half a year ago he would have never even considered such an antroxity. No, he would have shot the other synth in the face if he so much as looked at him the wrong way. It almost seemed like a distant dream, tinted with a cold bitterness. So much had changed. He had changed.

There were steps suddenly, coming his way, a rustle of clothes and someone settled down into the seat next to him. He didn't bother to look up and hoped that, whoever had come, would just leave once understanding that company was unwanted at the moment.

But instead he heard the click of a lighter, a slow inhale and a raspy voice, "So..."

Danse groaned internally. Great.

"You still sulking?" Hancock asked casually.

Danse looked up at that, brows furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Black eyes turned his way and the ghoul was smiling that small, impertinent smile. He hung in the chair lazily, legs spread wide and, having abandoned the red coat due to the blazing warmth, his white shirt hung open, revealing his naked, irradiated chest underneath.

Danse found the spot of dry grass between his feeth suddenly very interesting.

"Valentine," Hancock drawled innocently and Danse froze. 

The bottle almost fell from his hand. He couldn't say anything, managed only a grunt. He felt a blush creep up his neck, heating up his cheeks, blood rushing in his ears. Damn. This was a bad joke, it had to be. How did Hancock, of all people, get wind of this? Had Valentine himself told him? They were pretty close. But then, the other synth didn't seem to be the kind of person to gossip, especially about his own private affairs. 

"-and that's why you go and talk to him, now. And apologize."

Danse hadn't listened to the ghoul, to caught up in his own shocked thoughts. He just heard the last sentence and self-righteous indignation welled up in him, "It was mutual! I have nothing to apologize for."

" _Mutual_? Huh? What do you..." Hancock stared at him. And when Danse saw his black eyes blinking slowly, saw the gears in his head turning, he realized with dread that he had made a giant mistake.

"... No way. No. Way!" Hancock exclaimed and Danse wanted to punch himself in the face, "Shut up!"

"Oh, you have got to be _shitin'_ me! Hey! Hey! Here, feel my pulse! It still goin'? I think I just died from a heart attack!" The ghoul stretched his forearm in his direction, waving it around. Danse clenched his teeth until it hurt, wiping his face in frustration, "I said shut up!"

And Hancock did, just looked at him with wide eyes, mouth open. And then a chuckle bubbled forth, small at first, before it escalated into full blown hysterics, "Fuck! This... this is the best! You! And Valentine! And ... _you_! This is soo rich!"

"Shhh!" Danse shushed the ghoul hastily, looking around in panicked alarm. Thank god no one was near. 

Hancock fell back into the seat, completely exhausted and holding his stomach, "Wait till Nora hears this, she's so goin' to freak-"

"You will tell nobody anything about this!" Danse growled at the ghoul menacingly but Hancock just winked at him, shit-eating grin almost splitting his face, "Forget it, soldier-boy. This is just too damn priceless."

"If you say even one word-" Danse made to stand up, brows furrowed in real anger and the ghoul lifted his hands placatinly.

"Okay, I'm just riling ya' up, brother. I won't tell anyone," Hancock said, still chuckling and shaking his head slowly, "Jesus... Can't believe it. I mean, I'm trying to picture it. Very vividly. Looks good so far."

Danse groaned at that and buried his face in his hand, "Your behaviour is appalling."

Hancock shrugged, "Yeah, maybe, but you have only yourself to thank for that. I didn't know what happened last week, I thought you two had simply argued and wouldn't talk to each other. Hell, now I'd pay good caps to see exactly what happened, but that's beside the point."

The ghoul chuckled dirtily and Danse felt his cheeks burn up once more at the lecherous tone. 

"Stop this."

"Alright, alright..." Hancock sobbered up and leaned over the chair towards him. Danse felt uncomfortably scruntinized under that gaze. 

"So... just to get it straight, you know, so I understand what's going on... you two banged like molerats - and I never in my life would have thought I'd say this, like, ever! - and now you're avoiding him like the plaque?"

Danse cringed at the crude phrasing and ducked his head. There was nothing to say. It was right, as much as it pained him that it had to be Hancock saying it.

"Figures..." the ghoul sighed and rummaged around in his pocket to produce a jet inhaler. A quiet hiss and he inhaled deeply, voice strained, "Tell you what, crew cut. Either you go talk to him or I'll make you. And don't think I couldn't do this."

Danse stared at the ghoul, "No."

"No? And why's that, my dearest tin-can?"

Danse clenched his teeth, "I... can't."

Hancock snorted, "You can't? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just..." Danse started and felt his voice ebbing away. He couldn't say it. Couldn't believe he was sitting here, talking with _Hancock_ , about this. This really was a bad joke.

"Oh dear... honestly, brother? That's embarrassing," The ghoul chuckled and waved his hand dismissingly. He leaned forward again, fixating him with jet black eyes, "Was it good?"

"That's none of your business!" Danse bristled and Hancock tutted at him, "Wrong answer. Was it good?"

"... Yes," he ground out, cheeks burning and looking at anything but the ghoul. He could picture his lewd grin nontheless, "Did he think so, too?"

A memory flashed before his eyes, Valentine, neck straining and eyes ablaze in rapture, arching up into him with a cry. He ducked his head once more when he felt his blush intensifying and nodded.

"Want to do it again?"

Danse had enough, "I will not answer this question!"

"I'll take that as a yes," Hancock concluded amused and leaned back in his chair again, "So. It was good and you want another go at that nice little piece of circuit-board. What the hell are you waiting for?"

"It's not like this! It's... complicated." Even Danse realized how pathetic it sounded and Hancock even more so. He groaned dramatically.

"It's complicated..." the ghoul echoed, "Damn, Brotherhood didn't bother to retrieve that stick from your ass when you left, didn't they? Now, listen closely. I get it that this is big for you and that life hasn't exactly dealt you the nicest cards lately. But, hey, Nick Valentine? This is a damn fine card and you are going to throw it away like that? You don't deserve to be everyone's favourite punching bag for the rest of your life, including yourself. Don't be stupid."

Danse lowered his head. His ears burned, quite literally. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. The ghoul's words had struck home, more than he wanted to admit. He stared at his hands and heard Hancock take another hit of jet with a huff.

"You're not angry at me?" He asked quietly and Hancock looked at him puzzled, slowly exhaling the thin, white smoke, "What for?"

"I was under the assumption you and Valentine were friends. And that you would be more... dissaproving."

"Oh, we are. But Nicky is definetely old enough to handle himself," Hancock smiled a sweet, little smile, "And if you hurt him in any way I'll make you regret it."

The gentle ease with which the ghoul said it had Danse not doubting this threat for a second. He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded once, "Understood."

"Good. Now that that is cleared up...," Hancock's grin turned definitely mischievous and the ghoul's head lolled over his shoulder towards him, black eyes blinking expectantly and Danse frowned in confusion, "What?"

"Details. I need them," Hancock all but purred at him, "How was it? I mean you said it was good, but could you be more specific? I'm trying to wrap my head around the logistics here and came up with a few nice possibilities but-"

Danse stood abruptly, "Forget it."

"Awww, Danse, brother, c'mon! Don't leave a poor ghoul hangin'. What am I supposed to do now? Blackmail you into telling me?" Hancock coed behind him when he stalked away and Danse startled and turned, eyes wide. 

When he saw Hancock's god-awful grin, he growled, "You insufferable, little-"

"Love you too, crew cut," Hancock laughed and winked at him and Danse sighed a deep, long-suffering sigh before marching off.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the talk with Hancock, Danse needed the whole day to finally work up the courage to seek out the other synth and it was embarrassing enough that he needed the ghoul to tell him what to do. Or rather what he was to much of a coward to do, as unpleasantly shameful as that bitter realization was. 

He waited for Valentine in front of Nora's home, feeling uncomfortable and jittery. Nora had just returned from a mission with Deacon, that sneaky character, and no doubt they were in the middle of debriefing. He didn't want to know. He had his suspicions but simply decided weeks ago not to ask. 

So he just leaned against the broken down building on the other side of the street until the older synth stepped out of the doorway. His eyes shone omniously in the dark when they fixed on him immediately and Danse felt himself break out into a cold sweat. 

Valentine just looked at him for a moment. Then the other synth lit a new cigarette and walked up to him, one hand buried in his trenchcoat. 

"We need to talk." Danse said the moment Valentine stopped in front of him before he could loose his nerve. He was somehow proud that his voice sounded vaguely normal.

Valentine was silent, gaze searching, before he nodded slowly, "That we do."

Danse brushed past the other, walking briskly to the house Nora had provided him with. He wasn't fleeing. He most definetely wasn't. Just short of bolting. When he stepped inside, Valentine behind him, Danse took a deep breath and turned. 

And realized he had absolutely no idea what to say. His tongue felt as if it weighted a ton, throat closing in. A blush spread across his cheeks, up to his ears and it was way too hot suddenly, and not because of the still humid heat of the past day in the air. He was at a loss, utterly at a loss. 

Valentine looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact and before he could make a complete fool of himself, the other synth sighed, "Danse... I... Look, I'm sorry for what happened."

Danse blinked, "Y- ... _you_ are sorry?"

Valentine nodded slowly and walked past him, into the room that had once been an old kitchen, maybe to give them both the illusion of a little bit more privacy in a settlement without doors. 

"Yes. I... could have said something sooner. Should have said something sooner. Saved us both the embarrassement. What I did was... simply disrespectful and underhanded." The older synth turned and looked up at him. There was guilt etched into those features. "I understand that you didn't want to talk to me. And I wouldn't hold it against you if you never want to talk to me again. I just-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Danse cut in and he stepped up to the other, maybe a little bit to fast, to eager, and could feel himself shiver at the closeness, "I... we just..."

A flicker of yellow circled eyes, down to his lips for just a second, was all it took to break Danse's fragile self-control. He moved forward before realizing what he was doing, reaching up to cup Valentine's face. The kiss was harsh and he pushed the other synth backwards, against the old kitchen counter. 

"Now this ain't talking," Valentine gasped when he dove down, kissing along the patch of synthetic skin that made up his throat.

"Duly noted..." Danse breathed deeply through his nose, smelling plastic and metal and smoke, like he remembered it. He pushed his whole body against the other synth and leaned in for another kiss, felt himself growing hard when Valentine reciprocated and pushed back, kissed back, desire pooling warmly in his groin.

And then Valentine pulled away suddenly, with a gentle sigh.

"Danse, hold on..." The other synth whispered and he stopped immediately.

The reality of what he had done caught up to him in a rush. This was absolutely inappropriate. To loose his composure like that was indescent and out of the question. Danse bit his lip and wanted to step back but strong metal fingers tightened around his shoulders, keeping him rooted to the spot. Glowing yellow orbs looked up at him.

"You really want this?" Valentine asked, voice strained and low, a barely audible rumble, "You are certain?"

"I..." Danse swallowed the tremble in his voice, "Yes."

"Why?"

And suddenly, he knew what to say. The only thing that made sense, had made sense from the beginning. He smiled, a small, sad smile.

"Because we are not so different, you and I," he whispered, and Valentine stared at him, eyes glowing brightly. Then he chuckled softly when recognizing his own words and shock his head, sounding miserable, "Yes... But... Danse, just look at me."

Danse frowned, "I am."

"How can you still tell me you want this then? I'm nothing but an old machine pretending to be human. And you..." Valentine whispered, his deep voice hitching when Danse leaned forward minutely to brush their noses together gently and he closed his eyes with a small sigh. Danse didn't know what he was doing, he just knew he wanted to stop those self-loathing words - words he himself would have said not so long ago - feeling appalled to hear that this was how Valentine thought of himself and at the same time marveled by this man, who showed him his own vulnerability so openly.

And even in that way, he realized, they weren't that different from each other, thinking they didn't deserve this, any of this, just because of what they were. Danse felt anger well up in him, a brief flash of hot white anger at the unfairness of it all, at himself for believing all the lies and bigotry and hate he had been fed. It ebbed away as fast as it had come, leaving a different kind of warmth behind, simmering in his chest, and Danse needed a moment to understand that it was compassion. He looked down at Valentine with his eyes half-liddened, memorizing all the lines and crinkles in the synthetic skin, etched into it with age and sorrow.

He caressed Valentine's neck, his artifical cheekbone with his thumb. He wanted him to smile again. Like that night a week ago, gentle and kind. 

"You are more than that. And I ... I'm like you," Danse murmured against the other synth's lips and felt something in his chest break. For the first time since he knew the truth about his nature, it didn't hurt, it wasn't frightening. It felt like acceptance. It felt good. 

"Heh..." Valentine chuckled quietly, dejected, "Way better looking, that's for sure." 

Danse kissed the corner of his mouth with a small, crooked smile, caressing the others face with his nose, "Matter of opinion..."

"Gettin' cheeky with me now, are you..." Valentine murmured, turned his head slightly and pushed forward, closing the last inches between them. 

The kiss was gentle this time, at first, and Danse melted into the other. The pleasure in his abdomen burned brightly again when Valentine licked into his mouth and he tasted cigarette smoke and a sharp metallic note. Artifical fingers tangled in his shirt and pulled him down more firmly and Danse was happy to obliege, grasping Valentine's neck and knocking off the fedora by accident. 

The other synth chuckled when it tumbled down on the counter behind him, eyes shimmering almost deviously. In a surprising display of strength, he turned them around and Danse gasped when it was him now that was pressed into the counter. Silicone lips kissed a way down over his stubbled cheek to his jaw, his throat and the tendons of his neck and Danse squirmed. He pressed his hips forward, seeking friction desperately and Valentine looked at him with what was clearly amusement in his yellow eyes. Then the other synth sunk down on his knees in front of him and started to undo the jumpsuit, gently peeling it over his hips, undoing the zipper and mouthing along every inch of exposed skin at his groin before freeing his erection carefully.

Danse bit his lip. The sight was almost enough to make him come on the spot. Valentine on his knees in front of him, looking up with that faint smile, stroking over his hipbones slowly. 

"Please..." he whispered, voice breaking and Valentine leaned forward slowly, complying.

It wasn't like he imagined it. And yes, he had imagined it, much to his own embarassement, these last nights, thoughts of them together, of what they could do, keeping him awake and riled up.

But this... this put his imagination to shame. Valentine's mouth wasn't as warm as his internals had been, which made sense, given that the mechanisms producing the most heat were located in his torso. It was soft, though, not even a hunch of metallic hardness and the almost cool feeling made his heatened flesh tingle. He could feel Valentine's tongue, licking along the underside of his cock and when synthetic lips wrapped around his tip gently, Danse clinged to the counter behind him with a white-knuckled grip, blood pounding in his ears. 

And then Valentine started to move, bobbing his head slowly, and Danse groaned through his clenched teeth. Fingers covered in synthetic skin wrapped around his base, moved in rythm, just enough pressure to tease.  
He reached down and grabbed the other hand still on his hip, cold steel under his fingertips, and a skeletal thumb brushed over the back of his hand, surprisingly gentle. 

Danse couldn't surpress the buck of his hips, seeking more of that pleasure and Valentine oblieged, mouth set more firmly, taking him deeper, faster, and Danse could hear soft, little moans muffled by his cock. He groaned, clenched his jaw to stiffle it and failed, and he heard something almost like a quiet hum of an aborted chuckle but it was drowning in the rush of blood in his ears. 

He felt something against the tip of his engourged cock, something not quiet soft but flexible and realized it was the other synth's throat tubing, nestling around him, contracting when he thrusted forward carefully. The contrast to the older synth's gentle tongue and lips was dizzying. 

"V-... Valentine... I'm going to..."

He looked down, desperately, into half-liddened yellow eyes, sweat running down his temple and into the crook of his collarbone. Valentine didn't stop. If possible the other synth swallowed him even deeper, his nose bumping against his groin and Danse could feel cables and tubes squeezing his cock tightly, and then Valentine hummed again, triggering his release.

Danse came in shuddering waves, a deep groan vibrating through his chest as he shot down into the synth's throat, pleasure in his abdomen uncoiling in a wrenching orgasm. Valentine still didn't pull back, instead, there was a feeling like swallowing and Danse knew it were tubes of coolant compressing around him and the knowledge made him come even harder.

It probably didn't last as long as it felt like for Danse and when the heat subsided again he was almost feverish, slowly opening his eyes to look down at the other synth.  
Valentine let him slip from his mouth, and even in the dim light Danse could see his cum glistening on the others lips, dripping down his jaw and throat through the ragged holes there.

"I... I'm sorry," he panted, but Valentine just chuckled softly, "No need to apologize. I wanted you to."

No. This wouldn't do. Danse shock his head and reached down to pull his shirt off in one swift move and Valentine made a small noise in the back of his throat, looking up at him with wide eyes. He felt his ears and cheeks burning when he helped the other synth stand up again, avoiding his glazed gaze. Gently, he used the shirt to clean the others throat and jaw, as best as he could, before throwing it away carelessly.

"There..." he mumbled, pulling the slightly smaller synth into his arms to hide his blush and Valentine's fingers curled against his chest when he embraced him. 

"Thank you," Valentine sighed, "One thing though. My name is Nick."

A warmth spread in his chest at that, and Danse ducked his head, the other's forename feeling strange on his tongue, somehow deepening the level of intimacy he wasn't used to having with anyone, "Nick... what about you?"

"Ah, don't wrack your brain over it. I'm as fine as one old synth can be."

The faint strain in his quiet voice and the high hum of overworking motors and gears inside his body betrayed his words. Danse nodded slowly and reached up to brush his fingertips over the exposed parts of Nick's face. Slid them down to the ragged edges of torn synthetic skin over his throat. His other hand pulled the older synth flush against him and wormed it's way under Nick's trenchcoat and shirt, strocking over his spine, around his hip and slipping into a small, old crack in the skin just over his hipbone to brush along the wires he could reach.

Nick tensed in his arms and gasped his name. 

He leaned down and captured the other's lips in a kiss, continuing the soft strokes and Nick squirmed against him, mewling into his mouth. He pulled back, growling urgently, "You can come from this?"

"I... goodness, Danse..." Nick gasped and the former Paladin pushed his fingers into the tubes in Nick's throat, carefully between the plastic still slippery from his own cum, "Can you? This enough?"

Nick cried out and threw his head back to allow him full access, "Yes! Hell, yes..."

Danse turned them in one sharp move, pressing the detective into the counter again. His hands continued with teasing the wires and cables in Nick's throat and hip.

"Come for me then... want to see you again..." Danse murmured and Nick pressed his eyes shut, groaning, his fingers digging into the muscles on his arms, "And here I thought... ahhh... I thought you were coy. Always so reserved..."

Danse duck his head under Nick's chin to lick along the patch of skin. He could smell the musk of his own release there, taste a few drops of himself that he hadn't caught with the shirt earlier. Nick was right. This was so unlike himself, letting go like this, it was almost frightening. He didn't know what had come over him. He simply knew that he wanted to hear the other moan in release, wanted to see the fire in yellow eyes again. 

Nick's hips started to buck against him, deep moans escaping his lips, gasps for unneeded air. The fingers on his arms clenched and unclenched in the rythm he stroked along the bundles of wires in his hip. Danse looked up and drowned in yellow eyes, smoldering with desire. They kissed deeply, and he breathed through his nose, tugging at a particular thick bundle of tubes in Nick's throat and the older synth gurgled into his mouth. 

With a groan, Nick broke free to lean his forehead against his own and for a moment it was almost strange that he couldn't feel the other's breath on his lips. Metal fingers buried into his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises when Nick seized up with a rumbling moan like he did last time, face pressed into his neck and almost collapsed in his arms. 

Danse pulled his fingers away when the tremors that wrecked the others body died down again and embraced Nick, stroking his neck and shoulders. He stared at the wall, feeling light-headed and drained, physically and emotionally. And yet better than he had for a long, long time. 

He tugged and Nick followed, almost stumbling over his own feeth. Danse led the other to his bed in the next room and all but fell onto it, pulling Nick down with him. 

The older synth let out a huff of air and seemed to finally realize what was going on. He tried to push himself up, but Danse encircled his shoulders and pulled him down again, firmly against his chest.

"Stay."

Nick sighed exasperated, "Danse... dammit, I'm too old for cuddling."

Danse chuckled at that and for the first time since his banishment felt something close to genuine happiness. He stroked the other synth's neck, caressing his temple and dipping into the crack of skin there carefully. 

"Do you sleep?" He mumbled quietly, tiredly, and Nick sighed in what sounded like content, "I... wouldn't call it sleeping. It's more of a deep system diagnosis."

Danse nodded against the others head and tightened his hold. He felt Nick trace the protrusion of his collarbone with the fingertips of his good hand.

"You really want to try this?" The older synth whispered in the dark, only illuminated by a soft yellow glow from his eyes, and Danse could hear his systems gradually cycling down to a gentle hum. 

He caressed Nick's neck and it was a combination of exhaustion and the darkness around them that made him feel safe enough to say it, "If you want to... I'd very much like that. I... don't want us to be alone anymore."

Nick tensed in his arms for a moment before relaxing again. He didn't answer, but Danse could feel him smiling softly against his skin.

And that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting and kudos! :)


End file.
